


Eats, Shoots and Leaves

by etcetera_cat



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Middleman (TV), Thursday Next - Fforde, due South
Genre: Community: ds_snippets, Crossover, Gen, Humour, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etcetera_cat/pseuds/etcetera_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three encounters between different people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eats, Shoots and Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> So, [](http://simplystars.livejournal.com/profile)[**simplystars**](http://simplystars.livejournal.com/) tagged me with "gorilla" for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_snippets/profile)[**ds_snippets**](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_snippets/) Rapid Fire Challenge and, apparently, that suggested crossovers to my warped little mind. IDEK. [](http://cat-mcdougall.livejournal.com/profile)[**cat_mcdougall**](http://cat-mcdougall.livejournal.com/) held my metaphorical hand during the writing of these *clings*  
> Written for a rapid fire challenge at ds-snippets, where the prompt I was given was 'gorilla'.

  
**Eats.**

Fraser sighed, resolutely turned the page of the book he was reading, and ignored Diefenbaker's repeated insistence that cookery was happening on the other side of the closet door.

A disconsolate whine.

"The chances of there being banoffee pie are remote."

A growl.

Any reply that Fraser may have had to that was cut off by knocking from within the closet in question. Dief bounced to his feet, yipping excitedly and took up position in front of the door, tail vibrating from side to side.

Despite the fact that it could only be the deranged ghost of his father, Fraser found himself approaching and opening the door with caution. Robert Fraser wasn't known for his polite entrances.

"Ah, son!" A gust of warm air, redolent with burnt sugar and coffee, swirled around Fraser senior. "I don't suppose you have any cream?

"No, Dad." Fraser stumbled slightly as Dief eeled between his legs.

"Don't worry about it, Robert."

Fraser leaned to one side and looked around his father for the source of the female voice voice. There was a table in the middle of his father's cabin, covered in the remains of a generous dinner. Seated at the table were an elderly man dressed in a colonial hunter's outfit, and a gorilla in a cocktail dress. On the floor next to the table was a pith helmet, which Dief was avidly inspecting.

The gorilla essayed a shy wave and Fraser found himself waving back.

"Trafford and Melanie came over for dinner," Fraser's father said, as if that explained everything.

"I say, old chap," the hunter said, nudging Dief in the side. "Less of the salivation, wot?"

Fraser sighed and let the closet door fall shut. Some things weren't even worth trying to rationalise.

  
**Shoots.**

Ray is not having a good day. Currently, he and Fraser are tied to a giant concrete banana with _vines_ and Fraser's response to this is to be Mr. Rational. Which would've been so much more helpful if the subject of this rationality hadn't been dressed like a cross between a commando and Doc. Brown.

"Fraser—_Fraser_. We do not talk to the crazy people. Which I realise means you're going to spend the rest of the year mute, but sacrifices have to be made."

"Now, really, Ray."

"The man has an army of _monkeys_; sanity is not near here!"

"Gorillas!"

Ray winces as crazy guy gets up into his face, eyes bulging, mouth foaming.

"They're my army of cyborg gorillas, and with them I shall take over the world! My plan is sheer elegance—"

"In its simplicity." And just like that, crazy scientist guy's eyes roll back in his head and he goes down in a heap. Ray finds himself staring at what has to be Fraser's freakier mutant clone, only with worse dress sense.

"Hello." The man nods at Ray before pulling up his sleeve to reveal a watch. "Ida, could you arrange transport for five hundred cybernetically enhanced gorillas with the O2STK?"

"They're not staying here. I've only just got the papaya off the HEYDAR."

"Ida—"

"Fine, fine." The irritated female voice cuts off in a burst of static.

"Sorry about this," weirdo clone guy says, beginning to work loose the lianas. "Have you free in two shakes of a zombie duck's tail."

"Mad men and monkeys," Ray groans.

Fraser and weirdo guy clear their throats simultaneously. "Actually, I'll believe you'll find that these are some rather unfortunate examples of _Gorilla beringei_."

Ray gives serious thought to knocking himself out on the concrete banana.

  
**Leaves.**

Diefenbaker wasn't one to take advantage of people, but there came a point in life when a half wolf just had to realise on which side of a particular line he stood.

When it came to strange men standing on the shore of Lake Michigan and inexplicably throwing stale cake to the seagulls, Dief was firmly on whichever side of the line contained the cake and lacked the seagulls. Dief shuffled hopefully forwards and produced the kind of pathetic whine that usually worked with Frannie.

The younger of the two men, who was dressed all in black, wearing sunglasses and smelled strangely like the tank in the corner of Ray's apartment, smirked, stole a piece of cake from the paper bag that the other man was holding, and threw it to Dief.

Raspberry. Dief approved.

"Now, really, my dear." The second man tucked his bag safely into one of the pockets of his faded tweed jacket. "I thought we were at least trying to preserve the illusion of being in Hyde Park?"

"There's water," sunglasses man pointed out helpfully. "And birds. If you squint, they could be ducks."

"That is not a duck."

Dief flattened his ears as he realised that he was the _that_ in question.

"I don't know, squint enough and he's almost like a small albino gorilla."

"Oh, _really_, Crowley. You're not even in the right genus."

"Fine, fine. Less of the feeding of the wildlife, more of the grind of wiling and thwarting."

Dief watched disconsolately as the two mean walked off, leaving him behind with crumbs and squabbling gulls. There hadn't been nearly enough cake for his liking.  



End file.
